


Pressure point

by Z_S64



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: #vamplock #fem!john #happyending, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:15:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27524455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Z_S64/pseuds/Z_S64
Summary: So what would happen if female John (Joan Watson) met vampire Sherlock Holmes? I asked myself this question and the result was a 30something chapters long fic. As I've hit 1k followers on Twitter, I've decided to finally share it with you all one chapter per week.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't like female John or vampire Sherlock or you have problems with acts of violence ( the usual triggers) or you don't want to see these characters in a straight relationship, DON'T READ THIS! You've been warned and I will delete any negative comments about the warning I just gave you all! Otherwise kudos and comments VERY appreciated because I've struggled with publishing this fic for 2 years 🥺

Chapter 1: "Once upon a time…"

London is full of art, history and centuries-old secrets. The human citizens of this mysterious city often tend to automatically assume that vampires are fictional creatures, made up for fantasy novels and TV shows for the sole purpose of entertainment...  
but they couldn't possibly be more wrong.  
***  
It was a typical early April evening in London; dark, cloudy and of course a bit chilly. Doctor Joan Watson walked out of the hospital that she works in. She had sandy hair, slightly tanned skin, a height of 170 centimetres with blue eyes. She was wearing a black top with black trousers and brown rust boots with a matching coat.

It had been a very long, stressful and exhausting day for her; she'd been puked on twice by her patients and had gotten blood all over her uniform three times in less than twelve hours. She lived close by and a short walk always helped to relax her so she often took a walk back home, unless she was in a hurry or the weather was exceptionally terrible. At that moment she just wanted to go home, eat some takeaway and then catch a few hours of sleep before she had to return to work the next morning. 

However, destiny had different plans for her.

Joan was already halfway home when she heard a loud scream. It wasn't really difficult to find the source of it; a young man was lying on the ground and squirming in pain. Joan didn't think twice before rushing over to him, her medical instincts had immediately taken over her. Once she was by his side, she could see that his white shirt and both of his hands (which were trying to apply at least some amount of pressure on the wound but failing horribly at doing so) were tainted with his own blood which was pouring out of a wound to the left side of his abdomen.  
He was tall and pale skinned with black curls but she couldn't waste more time to notice anything further about his physical features.

As Joan was busy trying to stop the bleeding, she suddenly noticed that the man had stopped squirming and didn't groan anymore like he did a few short moments ago; his hands didn't move anymore either. When she looked up at him, his eyelids were shut.  
"Hey. Hey!" she called out, trying to wake him up.  
Death couldn't be so loud and painful and you don't hear other people calling out to you with urgency in their voice when you're dead. No; he wasn't dead. And yet he couldn't stop the disappointment that accompanied the comprehension of this fact surge through him.

He only half opened his eyes, but that was still a good sign nonetheless. When his vision regained focus, he was surprised to still be alive and even more so to find a stranger by his side. "Who... are... you?" he asked in a barely audible tone when his eyes landed on her.  
"I'm someone who's trying to save your life. Now, do your best to stay awake for as long as you can manage," she ordered and he didn't react. The bleeding had finally slowed down a bit so she managed to examine the wound properly now. "I've seen more than my own fair share of wounds but I've never seen anything like this. What in God's name were you stabbed with?"

Another loud groan was the only answer she received. Joan looked around but the back alley was quiet and there was no one in sight to seek help from so she reached one of her hands into her jeans pocket for her phone to call an ambulance while still applying pressure to his wound with her other hand.

"Don't!" He yelled and reached out to stop her but this sudden movement made him wince in pain and he had to lie down again."Don't do... that," he protested, the words coming out of his mouth in bits and pieces due to the sharp pain and he was breathing in small gasps.

"What?!"

"Don't call… an ambulance."

"I have to. You've been stabbed. This wound can kill you. You need to be treated in a hospital," she argued.

"No. If you really want to… help me, don't call anyone. They can't help me." 

"What does that even mean?"

"I'll be... fine. I simply... need some… time… and rest," he muttered as he tried to get himself into a sitting position between groans and gasps.

"You can't just ignore this and pretend that you're not injured. You're gonna bleed out," She shook her head in protest and tried to ease him onto his back again.

"Just let... me... get up..." It took all of his energy and doubled up the pain, but he eventually managed to stand upright. At this point, she couldn't really stop him, no matter how hard she tried to do so. Even wounded, he was (physically) much stronger than her.  
Joan was frozen with shock and glued to the spot as he walked away and disappeared into the dark night. Something invisible held her there, preventing her from doing what her mind and medical instincts screamed at her to do. When he was out completely of her sight a moment later, Joan started to doubt her own sanity. How could any of this be real? The fresh blood on her trembling hands was the only valid reminder that this incident had actually happened and that it wasn't some creepy, twisted production of her own mind.  
'What just happened?' She asked herself and no answer came.

***

Two days later, Sherlock Holmes still hadn't managed to get his saviour out of his head. He'd deduced that she was an ex-army doctor but he couldn't comprehend why she still wanted to help people after all the cruel and horrible things that she must have witnessed and been through back in the war abroad. 

He himself hated humans; to him, humans made guns and started wars and killed one another in order to become the sole ruler of the world and to gain immeasurable power, except that they were all too dumb to rule it properly, and yet they'd rather die than to surrender to their own failure and simply accept it. They've done nothing but destroy this planet for centuries. He found them egotistical, unjust and even... ruthless. Not that he thought of himself any better than these said adjectives, but his savagery was merely a biological feature whereas humans choose violence willingly. Maybe that was the only reason as to why nature had accepted vampires as a part of itself (top of the food chain, actually). It had always seemed ridiculous to Sherlock that nature had even allowed vampires to exist to begin with, until it occurred to him that maybe nature was punishing humans and seeking justice for all the crimes they had committed against it for centuries by accepting vampires as a part of itself.  
For the first time in a very long time, Sherlock felt stifled in his own flat; as if there was simply not enough air in the room and his lungs struggled to get some oxygen into his body; his skin felt like it'd been set on fire and the silence of the flat was weighing heavily on him. 

He grabbed his Belstaff (not because he was cold but simply because he didn't wish to draw attention to himself by not wearing enough warm clothes on a cold day like this one) and walked out of 221B, ignoring the first droplets of a very heavy rain.  
***  
Where he was going or the fact that he was soaking wet by now didn't really matter to Sherlock. All he cared about was that his head felt less heavy and the gentle breeze in the air and the rain had somewhat cooled down his skin.

These long and quiet walks through London's long and usually crowded streets have always managed to soothe him somehow and that was one of the many reasons as to why he couldn't bear to live anywhere else. He could feel its beating heart and that made his existence almost bearable. In London, he never even needed to have an actual destination as he knew the city very well. He could simply find his way back when he was ready to return. 

This time, he had stopped merely meters away from where he'd been attacked two days ago. Something about that night didn't make sense to him and his mind marvelled at the memory for a while, trying to unroll the mystery.

A muffled scream was what eventually pulled the brakes at the chain of his thoughts. He'd heard such screams enough times before to instantly recognise them; beyond a doubt, this shriek of sheer horror belonged to a human who'd fallen victim to a vampire's thirst. 'Ignore it and walk away!' he mentally pinched himself, but his body refused to obey his mind's commands. Instead, he turned towards the direction of the scream and momentarily froze with the shock of the scene in front of him. 

It was HER shriek! A vampire had Sherlock's saviour from two days ago pinned against a wall; one of his hands was covering her mouth while the other one was wrapped around her throat as he whispered something to her with a grin on his face that made Sherlock want to bend over and spew. She had trouble breathing and both of her hands were struggling to release the tight grip on her throat.

Three more seconds and she'd be ripped apart right there and then. 

Vampires don't interfere with one another's feedings; it's one of their very strict rules, but this was different. Putting aside the personal reason that Sherlock's thoughts had been about little else except for that specific young woman in the past forty-eight hours, that vampire was about to feed on a human in public. The rules ban vampires from feeding out in the open. It's too risky and can expose the existence of their kind. Plus, this woman had saved Sherlock's life only two days ago. Wouldn't it be monstrous of him if he didn't at least try to help her?

"NO! Leave her alone!" He heard himself yell but could hardly recognise the hoarse scream as his own. The other vampire growled in protest but Sherlock tore him away from her and threw him over to a nearby wall. He was back on his feet in a second and growled as he ran towards Sherlock. The two vampires quarrelled for a while, growling at each punch or kick and growing more vicious by the minute. 

Neither of them was gonna give up easily but Sherlock turned out to be at least twice as strong as his opponent. "SHE'S MY COMPANION! MINE!" He growled as his hands tightened their grip on the other vampire's throat. Sherlock didn't know why his mind had chosen those words. It was a slip of the tongue, but it had come out so naturally, like a long-held truth finally being given a voice. He was so blinded with rage that he doesn't really remember what happened next, but his anger seemed sufficient to set the other vampire running off at full speed once he saw the opportunity to escape. 

"You..." he heard the girl murmur and turned around. The fear on her face washed away all the anger he'd been feeling. She backed away a few trembling steps from him, shaking her head. The horror of being attacked combined with the shock of witnessing a vampire's true face shattered her nerves and she passed out almost immediately. Sherlock's instincts barely had enough time to act as he caught her in his arms to stop her from falling to the ground and hitting her head. 

His mind raced uncontrollably, watching raindrops pour down on her face. Silver moonlight shone on the two of them as Sherlock held her unconscious figure. His mind went blank and he was completely lost as to what he was supposed to do under these circumstances so he decided to do the only thing that he could do;

He took her home.  
***  
Sherlock seated her down in an armchair and lit a fire in the long abandoned fireplace, hoping that it would (at least somewhat) warm and dry her. He truly didn't want a human to see who- no… WHAT he actually is but seeing another vampire trying to feed on her and then possibly kill her was more than he could bear and he had no other choice but to stop it.  
He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He couldn't make sense of his own actions around her. Vampires were supposed to take human lives, not save them... and yet he'd saved her and had revealed his own secret in the progress; the most reckless and unthinkable thing for a vampire to do.  
What had he done?

He noticed his phone buzzing in his pocket. He took it out and glanced at the screen before picking up; "Mycroft, I'm busy.”

"I'm quite aware of that."

"Of course you are," he rolled his eyes. By now he was used to being watched by Mycroft through the CCTV. Not that this had stopped annoying him; but nothing could be done about it really so he generally ignored it. "What do you want then?"

"I simply want to warn you."

"Warn me? About what?" 

"What you've just done - I'm afraid it might not end very well." Mycoft was naturally aware of what he had done. The caution in his voice was deadly serious.

"Whether it does or doesn't is no concern of yours."

"I think it actually is," a rather long pause; " Just don't let this issue get out of hand. No one will like the consequences, least of all, you yourself." 

"Goodbye Mycroft." Sherlock hung up as Joan started to regain her consciousness. 

"Where am I?" she asked with a sleepy voice, slowly taking in her surroundings. 

"My home," he replied simply and matter of factly.  
It was a fine flat; not too big but not too small either. A fireplace, a study table, two armchairs, a sofa and a coffee table made up the whole living room. Antiques could be seen here and there but overall, the owner's personal staff were scattered all over the place, making it look very untidy. One wall was almost completely a huge bookshelf which was filled with a considerable number of various books and another wall was entirely made of glass. A mirror was hung above the lit fireplace and a clock ticked steadily somewhere out of sight.  
Suddenly everything that had happened earlier came back to her; she jolted up and started to back away from him. "I saw your eyes... They were red and you had... fangs! I saw it while you were fighting with that man. You're not human. I know that. And neither was he. So what are you?!" She backed away further, still holding her guard up.

He shrugged before he sat down on his black leather armchair. "Well, I think you already know what I am. Don't you?" he stated as if it was the most common thing in the world to say. But no matter how crazy her conjecture was, it was the only possible explanation for what she'd seen with her own two eyes. Her heart raced with terror and then it quickly filled her entire being. She ran towards the door on fight or flight instinct but found it to be locked. "You're not going anywhere unless I allow you to," he said calmly as he got up and slowly walked over to her with steady steps.

"What are you gonna do to me?" She asked in a whisper as he slowly backed her to the metal door. Joan closed her eyes and was panting slightly, she expected to be attacked by him any second now.

"If I wanted you dead or wanted to hurt you, I would have done it already. And I also believe I had a better chance at that while you were passed out, wouldn't you say?" He spoke in a low tone. His right hand was resting on the door, next to her face.

She slowly re-opened her eyes at his words but didn't yet dare to look up at him. "Then what is it that you want from me? Why don't you let me go?"

"If you can calm down a bit, I will explain that."

"Why should I ever listen to you? You're a creepy stranger who's kidnapped me. I don't even know your name!"

"Do you really think you have a choice right now?"

She sighed; "You want to talk? Fine. Go ahead. I'm all ears." Joan was still tense but deep down she was also curious to hear what he had to say. 

"My name is Sherlock Holmes and as you now already know, I'm a vampire," he began, backing away with a grin and putting a safe distance between their bodies once again. 

Joan didn't have a chance to pay much attention to his physical features until that moment. He was around 185 centimetres of height, his dark black curls contrasted heavily with his extra pale skin and his black coat hugged his thin but muscular body perfectly. His sharp cheekbones made his features all the more dominant. 

"I'd say I'm glad to meet you but I'm really not." 

"You don't like small talk."

"No. I really don't."

Sherlock chuckled dryly; "Alright; I'll get straight to the point then. First things first, you must know that some vampires keep human companions and there's a rule amongst us that prevents vampires from hurting one another's companions. I've been told that companions are considered as a sort of private property."

Why would vampires do that? It was a bit odd, unless they wanted humans as pets and… " They use humans as living long-term blood bags." It was a statement, not a question because she didn't even feel the need to question it as she was certain of its truth already. 

"Yes, but that's only one of their many reasons for keeping human companions. What you need to know next is that I told your attacker that you're my companion."

"But why?"

"To make him leave. As I said, vampires can't hurt companions. It's forbidden."

Joan sat down (or rather sank down) into a nearby chair, trying to progress what he'd just said. She used to believe that vampires were fictional creatures and don't exist in the real world but now here she was, in the grasp of an actual vampire. What she knew and believed to be true was at war inside her own head with what was happening in front of her eyes.  
All of this was just too much for her.

"You must be tired." He said, interrupting her thoughts and breaking the silence. It was only then that she noticed the darkness and that he'd turned the lights on. The night had fallen without her even noticing the passing of time.

"How about you let me go home then? So I can at least try to sleep."

"It's not possible for you to leave so you really should stop asking for that." It was true, in a way, but Sherlock knew that deep down, he didn't even want her to leave. There was something different and unique about her that drew him to her and he couldn't begin to comprehend it.

An idea crossed her mind as quickly as a lightning and suddenly she started looking around for her handbag; for her phone to be more precise, to call for help.

"If you're looking for your handbag, I'm not returning it anytime soon," he warned. She froze and tears blurred her vision at his words but then something caught her eye: an empty glass on a wooden coffee table… 

'Wrist? No, that'll take too long. Neck is a much easier  
target.' She thought to herself.

Joan really didn't mind dying, to be honest, never have actually but whatever Sherlock had planned for her was far worse than death or torture or imprisonment. To her, death with dignity was much better than becoming… whatever he wanted her to be.

She looked at the glass again and made up her mind. It wouldn't be an easy and painless way to die but even such a death was infinitely better than anything which was awaiting her in this flat. She just needed to act fast enough and tolerate the pain for a few minutes (... or even just a few short seconds) and then it'd all end, she would be free.

Joan jumped toward the table and smashed down the glass, then picked up the biggest shard that she could see. She tried to act as fast as she possibly could but before she could finish what she'd started, he grabbed her by the arms. 

"Stop this! Stop it at once!" His voice suddenly had turned so harsh that it sent chills all over her. He yanked the shard away from her hand with an immeasurable force and as he did so, a sharp pain shot through her body;

Her right palm was bleeding...

Terror filled her heart as she looked up from her now bleeding palm to Sherlock, knowing exactly what the blood was doing to him and also that she had absolutely no chance of surviving through this situation now. Any tiny piece of hope she had of getting out of his flat alive disappeared. The smell of blood filled the air between them and they both froze for a moment, her eyes fixed on him, and his on her bleeding hand. 

His body was urging him on to drink it, each cell was screaming and itching with the need for the warm liquid. He could smell it before and it was already difficult for him to keep his composure around her but now, it was a whole different matter. He wondered if he had ever craved a human's blood more and he couldn't recall having such a strong need before.  
Yet Sherlock slowly took a piece of a clean cloth and gently handed it to her to wrap it around her wound. He knew exactly what was going through her mind as their eyes locked for the first time. "I meant what I said earlier. If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead," he answered the unasked question lingering between them, "If you cooperate, nothing bad will happen to you. So, do both of us a favour and stop trying to kill yourself. Alright?"

"Being a blood bag? A puppet for you to play around with? A slave? No. That is not any better. I'd rather take my own life." Her voice rose due to the anger but whether the shaking was because of fear or pain, she couldn't tell.

“Taking your own life. Interesting expression. Taking it from whom? Once it's over, it's not you who will miss it. Your own death is something that happens to everybody else. Your life's not your own. Keep your hands off it."

"What use is my life like this to anyone?”

“How can you tell?" he sighed, "It's late, you need to rest."

"Why would I sleep in a stranger's house? In a vampire's house of all people?"

"Well; one, I know you've had a long day so you naturally must be exhausted. Two, you'll find it in your best interest not to defy me."

Having no alternative, she reluctantly followed him to the upper floor which consisted of a small bathroom and a single bedroom, furnished with a few pieces of furniture: a bed next to a large window, a wooden closet and a matching nightstand. It was obvious that this room hadn't been used frequently or even recently.  
"Are you going to make any more trouble?" He asked, looking at her. Unlike Joan who was looking around the room, he was merely leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes scrutinizing her suspiciously. 

"And what if I am? What are you gonna do about it?"

"The window is already locked. If you make any more trouble, I'll handcuff you to that bed and then lock the door from the outside. I don't think it will be very comfortable for you to sleep like that though." He paused but received no answer. "So? What is it going to be?"

If this was a threat, it surely wasn't an empty one. He was perfectly capable of locking her up in this room and she knew that no matter what, she wouldn't be able to get out. 

"Fine. I won't make any ‘trouble' as you so poetically put it," she sighed as she sat down on the old mattress. 

"Good." He was about to walk out the door but then turned around and shot a final threatening glance at her, “Don’t even think of trying to trick me. I'm warning you, it won't work." That being said, he was gone in a heartbeat.


	2. An ending & a beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan wakes up in Sherlock's flat and she has some questions. Let's see what happens. Kudos and comments much appreciated as always ❤ Hope you enjoy and happy reading!

Joan woke up to the beautiful sound of a violin playing, it was an old classic melody she was sure she'd heard before but couldn't quite remember.   
She remained laying on the bed and wished that the events of the last twelve hours would magically disappear, or turn out to be a horrible nightmare which she would eventually wake up from.

But the reality of it all downed on her pretty quickly.   
The fact that she'd actually managed to sleep at all was surprising even to herself. How could she sleep through an entire night in a vampire's flat? She was very tired last night, no doubts about that, but the adrenaline of the day's events should have been enough to keep her awake for days. 

She got up with a sigh, washed her hands and face with ice cold water in the bathroom upstairs to regain at least somewhat of a control over herself and then descended the stairs, as she had no other choice than to play along with her captive's 'game', at least for a little while.

There he was, standing in front of the large living room window with a violin in his left hand and a bow in his right, his fingers easily danced on the neck of the instrument. Despite the sweet action of playing the violin, there was something bitter about him, like he was an unbreakable statue made out of stone, an iceberg: cold, sharp and bound to destroy anything in his path. She could see that coldness even in the depths of his eyes. They were frozen... dead even, without even a trace of emotion in them to be seen.  
"That's beautiful," she descended the last couple of stairs as the song came to an end.

"The violin?" He asked with a small frown of confusion. 

"The music."

"Oh, I never know if it's beautiful or not. Only if it's right."

"Many say they are often the same thing."

"Yes, idiots. If they're not always the same thing, then what's the point in beauty?" He put the violin and the bow down in the case, then sipped a few drops from a glass which was next to him on a study table; the glass was filled with... blood! Joan’s stomach was made of steel by necessity due to her job but just seeing that glass filled with blood made her feel sick so she was forced to tear her eyes away not to throw up. 

"You're practically vibrating with questions," He finally turned around after setting the glass down and their eyes met.

"I've got one or two, yeah."

"Well, then I suppose I should clarify things for you, as much as possible, at least." He walked over to the kitchen and sat down on a chair behind the dinner table.

"There's really no way that you will set me free, is there?" She asked hopefully (and desperately) but she knew the answer to that question already. 

He took some time to consider it; "I won't lie to you. Lies break trust and I want you to trust me so I'll always be honest with you. You just simply can't leave this flat. You'll just have to accept it as it is."

There was a heavy silence lingering between them for a long moment. "Why did you lie to my attacker that I'm your companion? Why did you help me at the risk of revealing your own identity? Your big secret?" She dared to look him in the eyes this time.

"I told you before - because that was the only thing that would make him stop. And I did owe you one. You'd saved my life first, two nights before you were attacked yourself."

The memory came back to her mind almost immediately. "No, I didn't. You just walked away. You didn't even let me call an ambulance."

He shook his head. "You helped me the minute you set foot into that alley."

"And how exactly did I do that?" She frowned in confusion. 

"The man who had stabbed me would have finished what he'd started if you hadn't intervened. It would cause too much trouble for him to kill me in front of a witness. So he'd be forced to kill you too. But he couldn't risk killing a human because, while a vampire may get away with killing another vampire -which has happened before- they would never get away with killing a human and the risk of exposing our secret to the police and then to the public. So he was forced to postpone his plans and to try his chance with me another time."

"How did you survive that nasty wound? More importantly, how did he even manage to hurt you if you're a vampire? I don't think vampires can get injured by anything that can hurt humans."

"Why would that interest you?"

"You haven't answered my question."

He chuckled; "Vampires live much longer than humans do but make no mistake, it doesn't mean that we're immortal. We can be killed, if someone is truly determined to do it and tries hard enough. However, I can't tell you how I received that wound. As to how I survived it, vampires heal pretty fast. And also because of your timely interruption, my wound wasn't deep enough to kill me or to cause me any lasting damage."

"If I've helped you, why did you kidnap me and still hold me captive? It's a little impolite, don't you think?"

"You've seen what I am. You know my secret. It's too great a risk to leave you unchecked: a risk that I can't take."

She took a deep breath to calm herself and sat behind the kitchen table, facing him. "Fine; then tell me more about these companions you spoke of last night. You said they're considered as properties. Are they like... slaves?"

"Some are, but not most of them. It's rather difficult to explain. The myth is that the vampire is drawn towards its companion, even if they don't quite realise it. There is a subconscious bond… an unseen link between the two of them."

"A subconscious bond? You mean a mental one?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I never really believed this myth enough to do actual research about it but apparently yes." 

"So you just lied to save me? It's not true then, is it? You don't think that I'm your companion?"  
"I did what I had to do… what I could do, to make him stop."

"Look, as you said you'll be honest with me, so I will be honest with you in return. What you're doing to me is worse than death. You took everything I had: my ability to make choices, my job, my life - "

He rolled his eyes in annoyance. "What were you doing with your life anyway exactly? You constantly saved the lives of unimportant people who wouldn't even bother to say 'thank you' in return, ate crap hospital food and drank it's crap coffee on a daily basis and lived alone in a matchbox sized apartment."

Before she could reply, his phone buzzed as he spoke and after a shot a glance at the screen, he rose to his feet and shrugged on his black suit's jacket; "I have to go out. I'll be back soon." Before she could react, he was gone; and had locked the door from outside.


	3. Surrounded to fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where did Sherlock go? Who texted him? And what will Joan do while he's away? This is gonna be a wild chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throughout this fic, I will put in a few OCs (chapters that are made up by me); they're not gonna be overly important to the story if I'm being honest but they'll be side characters.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please leave kudos and comments if you enjoy it. Happy reading!

Joan spent the first few minutes of being alone in the flat searching for a way out. She'd started to feel the symptoms of coming down with a cold since she'd woken up in the morning but it was getting worse by the second and by now it was impossible to ignore it anymore. 

She kept looking for a way out for as long as she possibly could but she hadn't eaten anything since yesterday so she was getting physically weak and drained. The fridge had nothing but blood bags in it and there wasn't any kind of human nutrition anywhere in the flat. Joan had never felt so desperate before. She was hungry, thirsty, sick, hurt and locked down in a vampire's flat. It would take a miracle for her to make it out of this place alive. 

***

Sherlock's footsteps echoed through the narrow corridor of the old building as he made his way to the big hall. It was old but beautiful, like a museum. Gold and white colours could be seen almost everywhere and all the furniture were at least fifty plus years old. Most likely, the place had been the office of someone very important in the past (possibly an ambassador or someone of similar authority?), judging by how elegantly it had been built. However the beauty of the building didn't interest him, nor did its history.   
What was important to him was the current inhibitors of the place.

Ten ancient vampires lived inside this building, each had adopted the name of a poisonous plant as an alias to hide their true identity… Azalea, Oleander, Aconite, Belladonna, Larkspur and five more he never really bothered with. They were chosen a long time ago to make a very few but essential rules to ensure the safety of the vampire kind and to make sure that the current peace would maintain, no matter what. Neither humans nor vampires are happy with chaos, it's one of their rare similarities. 

"Sherlock Holmes." one of the members greeted him whom he knew as Oleander, a tall black haired man with deep black eyes who was neatly dressed in a tailored suit. He seemed 30 to 35 years old but Sherlock knew that he was in fact much older.  
Venerum used modern technology, in fact they enjoyed it but even in this, they were very secretive and knew exactly how to conceal themselves and leave no trace behind. They used code words in their messages and also had other ways of protecting themselves even against the technology. 

"Why did you want to see me?" Sherlock asked impatiently. He knew Venenum would never contact someone if the matter wasn't extremely serious and urgent. 

"We've heard some rumours and therefore wanted to discuss them with you face to face." 

"Rumours? About what?" 

"We've been informed that you've been attacked a few days ago."

"I have. With one of your weapons."

"One of ours?"

"One of the only five weapons on earth that can kill a vampire," he explained, "YOU had those weapons sealed away to guarantee the safety of our kind but my attacker had the knife. So evidently someone's got access to these weapons without your knowledge," he said in an accusing tone. 

"The knife?"

"Yes. THE knife," he emphasised. 

"Why did he attack you?" Oleander asked curiously. 

"Because he's killed someone. I can prove it and he knows this. I wouldn't have survived if it wasn't for..." he stopped, not really eager to share the rest of that sentence. 

"For?" Oleander raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue. 

Sherlock sighed; "...for my companion. I didn't know this at that point though."

"I do wish you'd introduce her to us."

"I don't see a point in that and therefore don't find it necessary."

"And where is she now?" 

"She?" It was Sherlock's turn to be surprised. 

Oleander tilted his head to one side as a sign of disappointment for being underestimated. "Sherlock, you are unique in your mental powers, there's no doubt about that but we're not blind, nor stupid."

"She's at my flat." He replied simply and shortly. They were seriously trying his patience now.

"Good. I'm glad to hear that you have the situation at least partly under control." He paused for a second, measuring his next words. "And the attacker?"

"No need to worry about that." Another member of Venenum spoke up as she stepped forward. Sherlock knew her as well. "He's already been taken care of." She was a brunette woman, wearing a white shirt and a black skirt. 

"I'm glad to hear that, Azalea but that's not the only reason that I've come here," Sherlock looked between the two vampires. 

"What do you want?" Oleander turned his gaze back to him.

"Protection. Not for myself, but for my companion. She was attacked last night by another vampire. He managed to escape before I could finish him off. I let him go because I dislike having blood on my hands and he seemed scared and sensible enough not to repeat such a huge mistake ever again but I won't hold myself back the next time."

"I wouldn't expect you to do so. Your instinct to protect your companion is completely understandable," Oleander's lips curled up into a smirk.

"Understandable how?"

"Why do you think companions are considered as properties, Sherlock? On our side, there's the power of owning and on theirs, the security of being owned, being protected. It's not a shock that you want to protect what's yours; at least yours in a sense."

"That's absurd."

"You'll disagree with that in a maximum of six months. Nature is full of magic and mysteries and you'll come to appreciate them very soon," Oleander chuckled dryly, "We'll find her attacker as well."

"I'll be in touch," Sherlock announced and left the big hall without awaiting a reply. 

***

Sherlock let himself in with his key but froze at the doorstep when he saw the state of the flat. Just one glance was enough to let him know everything that had happened in his absence; Joan had tried to break down the door, then she'd tried the windows which didn't do her any good; (Thanks to Mycroft's suspicious nature for that one. He probably thought Sherlock would punch them or something at one point and that therefore the windows needed to be strong enough to tolerate a vampire's strength.) After that, she'd tried to find her phone, and only once all of those had failed, she'd started trying to attract the attention of a passerby - down below, on Baker Street - by slapping the window, and shouting.

Sherlock isn't someone to experience feelings often. He'd started to shut his emotions down at an early age as he noticed that they did him little good and cost him way too high. But in that moment, an unmistakable fear clenched around his heart. Was it the fear of being discovered? Or the fear of losing Joan and never seeing her again? But there was also rage, almost as strong as the fear.

"You know you'll only hurt yourself with that, don't you?"

"Sh… Sherlock…" Joan mumbled, frozen with shock and fear.

"I thought I'd warned you not to try and trick me. You really should have known better than this," he growled under his breath but still remained unabated. 

"Just get it over with. No need to prolong the misery," her voice was shaking a bit now.

"What are you talking about?"

"After what I tried to do, you must want to kill me, at the very least in order to get rid of me. So get it done."

"I am angry - no, I am furious but it doesn't mean that I will kill you. Although, I admit that I underestimated your desire to break free."

She looked up at him, hoping to make him see the situation from her perspective somehow. "I won't stop, Sherlock. You can't lock me up in a flat and expect me to do nothing. I am not a slave or a hostage. So if you either have to let me go or you'll have to kill me. I'm not going to apologise for wanting to be free."

"Why don't you understand?! There's a council of ten vampires out there who have set some laws a long time ago and make sure that everyone obeys them and their laws. If you leave, you'll reveal my secret. Do you know what will happen after that? The members of the said council will find you and they'll behead you and then they'll come after me and kill me," he paused and breathed heavily, "They're called 'Venenum' ; It's the Latin word for poison. No one knows who they are; they've changed their names to the names of poisonous plants to conceal their true identities. They're powerful and ancient and they won't stop at anything to keep the existence of vampires a secret in order to keep the peace we all presently have."

"I won't say anything to anyone. No one will know your secret."

"That'll be even worse. Venenum will want to see my companion for themselves now that they think I have one. If you leave and they don't see my companion; they'll be searching for you. You can't escape them and I don't even want to think about what will happen if they catch you"

"What do you exactly want from me? To obey like a sheep? To spend my entire life locked up in your flat?"

"I just want you to trust me a little until I find out how to solve this, that's all. Don't you think that if I wanted to harm you or to kill you, I wouldn't have bothered with any of this?" 

"I can't trust you like this even if I wanted to." She coughed and sneezed. The cold was getting worse by the minute, her eyelids were heavy and her whole body ached. Her voice had been hoarse too and she was sweating. 

Sherlock could clearly see that she wasn't feeling well. She had made a huge mistake but this wasn't a good time to discuss it as she was sick and there were too many emotions blocking his mind from thinking clearly at the moment. 

He inhaled deeply (another attempt to calm himself) but still kept eye contact; "This will not be forgotten. And make no mistake, I am not the forgiving kind. Don't think for one second that you won't pay for what you did today," He said firmly and still evidently angrily but then he took a deep breath again and paused for a moment before he continued, "but you're obviously coming down with a cold so for right now, go upstairs and rest before you make it even worse than it already is. We'll talk about what you've done later."  
Joan wondered what her punishment was going to be but she decided not to ask further questions.


	4. How far are you willing to go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Joan's having a cold (given the circumstances of the first chapter, it's not surprising 😁) what will Sherlock do? What's awaiting them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm back with a new chapter! This is actually where things really start to get interesting. 🙈 kudos and comments much appreciated. I want to hear what you all think! Hope you enjoy reading my fic 🥰

The next day; she was feeling even worse than before. Around noon, Sherlock came into the room. Just by one look, he could tell that she had a fever. He'd brought her a bowl of soup (which he'd ordered out), a loaf of bread, a glass of water and some pills to help with her cold.

She wanted to protest (even the smell of soup made her nauseous) but he didn't allow her."Don't be stubborn. Finish this and take those pills. I won't let you starve yourself so it's either this or an IV." He'd put the tray on the nightstand and walked out without another word. Clearly the IV wasn't a choice at all.

Joan had been sleeping for a few long hours but now she was running a fever and it made her restless. She forced herself to do as Sherlock had asked, she knew it was the right thing to do in order to improve her health and hasten her recovery. She was secretly grateful for the food and the pills as they helped her feel better but doubts about Sherlock and his intentions still clouded her mind. She didn't know what to think of him. For all she knew, he could be doing all this so that her blood would taste better when he would feed off her. 

A few minutes later, as Joan forced herself to finish the soup, she could hear voices coming from downstairs. It attracted her attention and she tried to focus on it.

"Of course I'm sure, Mycroft. There's no doubt about it," Sherlock said, careful to keep his voice down.

"But how?" A male voice replied but she didn't know this second man.

"I've examined the bodies myself. At first I thought that this is impossible but it's really true."

"So you're saying that someone's killing vampires by poisoning them?"

"Yes. And we don't know what this poison is, who's killing vampires, or even why."  
"This is a great danger to our kind," he said thoughtfully, "How many so far?" 

"Two. Same signs but apart from living in London and being vampires, they had nothing else in common. Different ages, different genders, different jobs, different parts of town, even different relationship status. But this isn't random, it's not an accident, someone's planned it and very carefully too."

“Any sign of struggle? Forced entry?"

"No. Which means whoever's doing this is not stupid. They knew exactly what they were doing. The victims let their killer into the crime scenes themselves."

"I'll see what I can find. In the meantime, keep this between us."

"That'll be for the best," Sherlock agreed.

"By the way, your companion - what are you going to do about her?" 

"Joan is struggling. She's resilient, a free spirit. But I think she'll understand eventually. Actually she's an additional reason that I wanted to see you."

"How so?"

"Venenum has guaranteed her protection as long as she doesn't reveal our secret. But I don't trust them. If things go wrong, they may turn against us and try to hurt her or even worse. "

"What exactly do you want from me, Sherlock?"

"No harm will come to her through me. If I'm unable to protect her at any point, I want to know that you will keep her safe above all else, no matter what."

"Why are you asking this of me?"

"Because you're the only one who can protect her in case I can't."

Silence fell over the flat for a short while before the man replied,"Fine. If this will put your mind at ease, so be it." She would be the making of Sherlock, or make him worse than ever, Mycroft wasn't yet sure which one it would be.

The whole conversation replayed in Joan's mind like a song that's been put on repeat but it made no sense. Did Sherlock really care about her safety? If so, why? Why didn't he trust Venenum? Who was this ‘Mycroft’ that he trusted so much? Joan decided not to mention anything about it to Sherlock. She just simply didn't know how to ask the questions she had in mind without sounding awkward or inappropriate. 

***

A couple of days later, It was seven P.M when Joan felt well enough to leave her room and descend the stairs.  
"Feeling better?"

"Yes."

"I ordered dinner for you. Should be here in a few minutes," he said casually without even looking up from his microscope. 

"Thank you."

"Hmm… Oh, by the way, was it Afghanistan or Iraq?" He asked casually, abandoning his microscope and picking up a file.

Joan on the other hand, was extremely surprised at this. "Excuse me?!"

"Your time abroad as an army doctor - where were you: Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"How can you possibly know about the army? Nothing in my handbag could have indicated that and I certainly didn't tell you about it."

"I didn't need to search your bag to know that you're an army doctor. Your bag only provided me with your name because of your ID in it and nothing more. And I didn't 'know', I saw."

"Saw?"

"Just the way you hold yourself and your conversation was enough to let me know that you have a military background. The way you examined me when I was attacked showed me that you have a medical background. You're slightly tanned which shows that you've been abroad but not enough tan for a vacation or sunbath, it's also still visible so you can't have been back for too long either. I think you came back due to a recent injury, most likely on your left shoulder because you're too cautious and self conscious about it. Afghanistan and Iraq are the only two countries in which a british army doctor may get injured like this."

She was truly fascinated. Once she'd followed his train of reasoning, it had all become crystal clear. She could see the flame of wisdom burning behind his eyes now and wondered what it's like to see the world through a mind like his, "That was amazing " 

"Do you really think so?" He asked, doubtful. 

"Of course it was. It was quite extraordinary." 

"That's not what people normally say." He raised an eyebrow. 

"What do people normally say?"

"Oh, it's usually 'Piss off!' or something of the sort." She couldn't help but chuckle at that. 

"It was Afghanistan, if you're really eager to know."  
He nodded, "Any good?"

"Very good." She nodded, memories flashing before her eyes.

"Seen a lot of injuries then? Violent deaths?"

"Well... yes."

"Bit of trouble too, I bet."

She chuckled again. "Enough for a lifetime, far too much."

"Want to see some more?" He asked as he took a few printed photos out of the file in his hand and spread them on the table in front of her.

"That's… that's a corpse."

"Hmm…"

"Wait, I don't understand. Why do you have crime scene photos?"

"Because my job requires me to have them."

"And what might your job be?"

"Have a guess," he grinned. 

"I'd say a private detective-"

"But?" His grin was still there.

"But no one has crime scene photos except for the police and they don't work with amateurs."

"I'm a consulting detective, the only one in the world. I invented the job."

"What does that mean?" Now she was looking up at him again. 

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."

"You're a vampire and you work with the police?"

"Yes."

"But the corpses-"

"It doesn't bother me too much so I don't mind," he shrugged.

"Why does the police even accept help from a civilian?"

"They know I'm their superior."

"Don't they notice that you're… not human?"

"Not if I'm careful enough about it, no. Plus, I also take clients and a few private detectives come to me for help as well. Gregson, Lestrade, Jones, Dimmock, Hopkins they all seek my help, although I don't think Donovan and Anderson like the fact that their boss works with me."

They both refocused on the photos. "So what exactly do you want me to do with these?"

"You've been in the army and you're a doctor. What do you do first when you find a dead body?"

"Find the cause of death, I suppose."

"Go on," he pointed to the photos and she picked them up.

"I can't see any sign of struggle on the body. No wounds either. She passed out, probably choked on her own vomit. Could have been alcohol or drugs. I see a few half-empty bottles of alcoholic drinks on the table in the photos so my money's on that."

He shook his head in disagreement. "You see but do not observe. It perfectly sounds analysis but I was hoping you'd go deeper. The blood tests showed no sign of alcohol or drugs. The bottles were put there by the murderer to distract the police, even if for a short while, an absurd trick to buy themselves some time to escape."

"Well in that case, maybe..." she paused and looked up at him. "Wait; You think that she was poisoned?" He nodded briefly in response and she checked the photos again. "You said 'blood tests', so there must be an autopsy."

"Yes, there is."

"But if the cause of death really is poisoning, wouldn't autopsy pick that up?"

"I think the poison might be undetectable, not that anyone would have been looking for it anyhow given the easy solution of alcohol," Sherlock picked up the pictures.

"I want to help." she blurted out suddenly. 

"What?" His eyebrows rose in surprise.

"You're solving a case and I can help. You said that you wanted me to trust you. Well, this is me trusting you."  
"Those two are entirely different things."

“I can’t trust you unless you allow me to do my job which is helping people and saving lives. I could be useful to the case, more so than if I was locked up in here. And I can’t trust anyone who would prioritise locking me up like some common criminal over helping others. So now the real question is, do you really want me to trust you?"

He seemed to be weighing his options for a moment. "Look, tomorrow night, there'll be a party at a bar. It's famous amongst my kind as it's one of the very rare places that vampires are free and allowed to show who they truly are. I think the next target will be someone from the guests."

"Why do you think there'll be another target at all? Maybe that's all there is and the murderer will just stop."

"Let's call it an educated guess,“ he shrugged it off but she knew that it wasn’t exactly true.

"Ok... What makes you think the new target is a vampire?" 

"Because the previous two victims were vampires and our murderer clearly has a pattern."

She paused, lost in her thoughts for a moment. "Even assuming that what you say is correct, how do you know the next target will be someone from that bar?"

"A large number of vampires will be in that bar so I rely on the balance of probability. A human couldn't have killed a vampire, let alone two. I think the murderer likes to make a scene. That's the frailty of genius, Joan- it needs an audience."

"What for?"

"Appreciation. Applause. At long last, the spotlight."  
"Yeah, I suppose they do," she replied thoughtfully.  
He was deep in thought for a moment."There's no other way. I'll have to risk it and get into the party," he said as he analysed the situation at hand over and over inside his head. 

"Well, you're a vampire. I don't think getting in there will be too much of a problem for you."

"They know I have a companion now and it would look very suspicious if I show up alone."

"N… no. No! You just said that there'll be vampires in that bar tonight, Sherlock. Need I remind you that one of them attacked me just recently and tried to kill me?" She was angry at the memory and scared of the threat of its repeat all at once.

"I told you not to try and trick me but you didn't listen. You tried to escape and this is how you'll pay for your disobedience. Plus, you asked to help with this case so you'll have to take the risks that come with it," he replied coldly.

***

Sherlock spent that night and the following day gathering data about the case. He was so lost in it that Joan wondered if he's aware of his surroundings at all.  
After she finished her dinner, he looked at his watch. 

"You better start to get ready. It'll begin soon."

"But I can't go to a party dressed like this. I'll stand out horribly. And I don't have any other clothes than what I'm wearing."

"Leave that to me."

Joan sighed but nodded. "Fine. I'll just have a shower then, shall I?" She still wasn't feeling 100% yet but had recovered greatly. 

She removed the bloody piece of cloth from her wrist before entering the bathroom, her wound had healed nicely. She found some clean towels in the bathroom so she tried to focus on relaxing and enjoying the shower she'd longed for since she'd stepped into this flat. 

When she returned to the bedroom, Sherlock had left a box on her bed which had a green snakeskin patterned  
top with long sleeves, a pair of black skinny jeans and a pair of nude coloured high heels in it. How he could possibly know her exact sizes was beyond her comprehension. She also found a few personal items in it as, such as a toothbrush, a hairbrush, a few extra towels and etc. 

Once Joan was ready, she couldn't help smiling at her own reflection in the mirror. As she descended the stairs, she could hear Sherlock playing the violin in the living room. She walked over and saw him standing in front of the living room window, wearing a dark suit.  
"Alright, I'm ready," she said and he turned around to look at her. This time, there was something different in his gaze, something that she couldn't quite put her finger on. His eyes had changed colour; now they reminded Joan of sunset at a seaside; calm, deep and inviting. For the first time, she didn't find any fear in herself when she looked at him. 

"Joan, if I ask you to wear this tonight and not to question why, would you do it?" He asked softly, handing a small jewelry box to her. She opened it and found a necklace with a blue/green stone in the middle. 

"This is antique. It must be very expensive and precious."

"It is." She looked up and her eyes were full of more questions but he just shook his head. "I really can't tell you more than that. Could you trust me on this and wear it? Just for tonight?"

Joan nodded. "Alright." She stood in front of the mirror above the fireplace and put the necklace on. Her hand stroked it as a way of silently appreciating its beauty.  
"You can keep it after tonight if you like; the clothes too," he said, he'd already noticed that she liked the necklace. 

"But this must be so valuable. I really can't-"

"The owner would have wanted you to have it. Believe me."

"I… I don't know what to say. Thank you."  
He smiled,"Shall we?"

She nodded and they left the flat together.


End file.
